


maybe it's

by tascioni



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Prom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 22:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tascioni/pseuds/tascioni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wonders, between breaths, if this is them talking about it; if Eames is saying he wants to try, and Arthur is saying he's willing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe it's

**Author's Note:**

> Written as [commentfic](http://arthur-eames.dreamwidth.org/13409.html?thread=46433#cmt46433) for the [arthur_eames Spring Romance fest](http://arthur-eames.dreamwidth.org/13409.html). If, for whatever reason, you'd rather read this elsewhere, this story is also available (uh, under flock :x) on [livejournal](http://tascioni.livejournal.com/1045.html).

Prom night, in Arthur's humble opinion, is seriously overrated. Sure, everyone dresses up nice and all, but he still hasn't wrapped his head around the fact that he paid two hundred dollars for this. _$200._ He could do a lot of damage with two hundred. Two hundred could've been four new video games from Amazon, including the new Uncharted. More importantly, it would've been two hundred dollars he didn't spend on a night inside the ballroom of the Hilton with the other one hundred and fifty-eight seniors of Saint Valentine's Senior High School. He's already spent practically his entire life with these kids; one extra night with them didn't really matter much, considering the only difference between tonight and every lunch period was the dress code.

His friends, Cobb, Mal, and Ariadne, don't share his sentiments.

"It's special!" insists Ariadne, but her opinions don't hold that much weight since she's a sophomore, and anything that involves upperclassmen is special to her. She also gets a pass because her boyfriend, Robert, is moving halfway across the country to Yale while she's still going to be here for the next two years.

Cobb and Mal don't count either because they're that couple--the one that puts all other high school couples to shame, and they're probably going to get married, and Cobb's going to go to med school and Mal's going to be a lawyer, and together, they're going to take over the world while being irritatingly lovely about it all.

"It's the memories we make," Mal tells him, smoothing a crease on his shoulder. "We won't ever have a night like this again."

"Uh huh," says Arthur, because he's polite.

"It's a special moment," says Cobb, entwining his fingers with Mal's. "It's about ending high school on a good note."

"It's May," Arthur says. "We've still got a month and a half."

"Seriously," says Yusuf, who is clearly the only other rational person here. "Why couldn't we just have a barbeque? It would've been so much cheaper."

"There's a bonfire later, right?" Ariadne chimes in, and Cobb flushes.

Arthur and Yusuf exchange a look of sympathy, because they, and possibly everyone else in the room, know that a ring is burning a hole in Cobb's pocket right now. Arthur doesn't envy him.

("It's just a promise ring," Cobb had said, clearly flustered.

Arthur had wiped his hands on a paper towel, not entirely sure why Cobb had to ambush him in the bathroom to say this. "Okay," he'd said.

"We're going to different colleges, and I'm not stupid. She might meet other people, but I'd like to try, you know? I want her to know I'm serious about us."

Arthur, because he is a good friend, had refrained from pointing out that that was rather obvious, considering they'd been together since basically middle school, and even when he'd become Saint Valentine's basketball star, among other stunning accomplishments, he'd never strayed from Mal.)

"I could be exploring Rub' al Khali with Nathan Drake right now," says Yusuf.

"So could I," agrees Arthur.

"I'm going to find Robert," says Ariadne, shaking her head.

"Dance with me?" asks Cobb of Mal.

"Oh, good," Yusuf says dryly. "Finally, some alone time."

"Hear, hear," says Arthur, sipping his punch. "Oh, ugh, this is disgusting."

"What's in it?" Yusuf inquires.

"Carbonated water," says Arthur. "And I'm guessing the red is just food coloring."

Yusuf squints at the cup. "It's nice to know that the prom committee put my money to good use," he sighs.

"They probably spent it all on booze for the bonfire," says Arthur.

"They better have," says Yusuf. "Or I want a refund."

* * *

San Clemente Preparatory Academy is located two streets down from Saint Valentine's. It's only natural the two schools would be rivals. It is also only natural that they would hold prom on the same night and conveniently decide to converge at the beach. Everyone knows this is due to the fact that the heads of both prom committees are totally hooking up. No one seriously minds though, because for all the snarking and pranking, both student bodies are generally on very good terms with each other.

Eames goes to San Clemente.

"Oh," says Arthur when he sees him, and his heart absolutely does not get caught in his throat. "You again."

"Eames," acknowledges Yusuf. "Tell me, does your prom suck as hard as ours?"

Eames grins. "It just got loads better," he says and pulls Arthur in for a kiss, which Arthur only half-heartedly tries to get away from.

"Jesus Christ," says Arthur, breathless, when they pull apart. "Can't you say hi like a normal person."

"Hello there, darling," says Eames.

"Bye then," says Yusuf and sets off, presumably to find his San Clemente partner-in-crime.

"For what it's worth," Eames says, taking Arthur's hand in his own and leading the way to the sand. "It is nice to see you."

It is probably a combination of the warm night air and the fact that Eames' suit does some seriously hot things to his shoulders that makes Arthur's face feel hotter than it should.

"I'd say the same, but I'm trying to cut back on lying," Arthur says, and Eames laughs, delighted, and squeezes Arthur's hand. They stop for a moment to take off their shoes and socks, and even though Arthur isn't all that gung-ho about walking barefoot in the sand (because unlike in movies, assholes in real life will leave broken glass that's probably got a million and ten types of bacteria just waiting to fester their way into an open wound), he takes a moment to watch the way the moonlight shines in the calm seawater and soaks in the chatter of his friends and classmates, the sounds of chip bags and beer bottles being opened and passed around.

They make their way around the edge of the beach and situate themselves on the children's playground. Arthur walks over to a swing, sits down and takes off his suit jacket when it stretches uncomfortably across his back. He thinks he looks okay. He's not broad, like Eames, but he is slim and fit like the cross-country runner he is. His legs are longer than he knows what to do with, but Eames has assured him on multiple accounts that he likes them just fine.

Arthur isn't one to get self-conscious, but there's always been something ridiculously calming about the way Eames compliments him, always so sincere and serious that all Arthur can do is accept it.

Tonight, Eames is in a tux that is clearly not a rented piece like Arthur's, and there is a tie knotted at the base of his throat and his dress shirt is light grey that probably feels as smooth as it looks. Arthur swallows and brings his eyes up to Eames' face.

"You look good," he says lamely. Eames, rocking himself lazily back and forth on the swing, smiles, soft.

"As do you," Eames says, and this time, Arthur leans in for the kiss that's gentle and sweet and makes his heart beat in that way that puts pop songs to shame. Arthur leans forward, placing a hand on Eames' knee to steady himself, and Eames cups his chin, his kisses alternating between light and fleeting to dizzying and insistent.

They make out until the swings get in the way and relocate to a spot on the beach nearer the bonfire. Most people seem to have paired off, so Arthur has no qualms about settling himself between Eames' legs and leaning back against his chest. Eames spends a fair amount of time nuzzling the base of Arthur's neck and murmuring quietly into Arthur's ear, and okay, Arthur can maybe see why prom is so special to some people, but he thinks it has more to do with the person he's with rather than everyone else in attendance.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cobb take out a box and present it to Mal, his chin resting on her shoulder, and he watches her surprise melt into joy and grins, in spite of himself.

"That's lovely," comments Eames.

"Mmm," says Arthur. "It is. Kind of sickening, but yeah, lovely."

"I guess it's a good time to give you this, then," says Eames in a voice that's probably shooting for smooth, but got caught up at nervous. He turns Arthur's hand over and drops a ring into his palm.

It's light and thin, and Arthur stares at it dumbly.

"I couldn't afford a real one, obviously," says Eames. "But I figured it's the thought that counts."

Arthur continues to stare at it, not quite sure he wants it, but equally unsure of whether he wants to give it back.

"I don't have anything for you," he says quietly.

"It's fine," says Eames. "You've given me plenty of things." which Arthur, in a brief moment of surreal clarity, thinks is completely untrue, because the only thing he's ever given Eames is what the box claimed to be "THE WORLD'S LONGEST SLINKY."

Arthur closes his hand. "Thanks," he says.

"You don't have to wear it," Eames says quickly. "I just wanted you to have it, because."

Arthur has no idea what that's supposed to mean, and he wonders what Eames is trying to say that Arthur's not hearing. He's not sure what to do, because he doesn't want to wear it, but he wants it--he does want it.

He turns his head and kisses Eames, to thank him or something. He's not quite sure what this means. They've never discussed their future, other than Arthur is going to Princeton and Eames is probably going to go to Cambridge. He wonders, between breaths, if this is them talking about it; if Eames is saying he wants to try, and Arthur is saying he's willing.

Or maybe it's something else. Maybe it's Eames saying he's looked at his Princeton letter again. Maybe it's Eames saying he's taking the football scholarship at Arizona State. Maybe it's something else entirely.

"We should," breathes Arthur. "We should probably talk, or something. About stuff."

"Yes," agrees Eames, sounding slightly relieved. "About things."

"Right," says Arthur. "Tomorrow?"

Eames kisses him again. "I can make tomorrow."

"Okay," says Arthur and grips the ring tight in his hand. "I'll be waiting."


End file.
